


Years From Now

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Ficlet, First Time, M/M, Moonridge, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair asks Jim where he believes they'll be in five years - and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Years From Now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Moonridge charity auction.

 

 

  
Blair wiggled his toes and grinned. God, he felt good. Shoes off, argyles on, fire going, soft sweats, well-worn undershirt that once belonged to his partner, a little K.D. Lang on the stereo, a chai tea in his hand, and Jim in the kitchen making dinner. Could a man have any more? Hell, yeah, but who was he to complain? If he needed more, another nice hot shower would take care of that particular need.

"Hey, Chief, you want 1000 island or a vinaigrette?"

"What are you having?"

"Bleu."

"I'll have the same, then."

He didn't need to be a sentinel or have eyes in the back of his head to know that Jim was peering at him over the top of the fridge door. He grinned and sipped his tea. Outside, it was raining, not unusual for Cascade in January. Tonight's rain was soft and dreamy, sending smooth rivulets of water down the windows in patterns that could keep Blair, not to mention a sentinel, busy for hours. He wondered what the rain sounded like to Jim, when he was in bed and it was pitter-pattering on his skylight?

"Hey, Jim? What does it sound like at night, with the rain hitting your skylight? Does it drive you crazy or do you enjoy it?"

He knew Jim was staring at him again so he hastened to reassure him. "It's just a question, man."

"It sounds... nice."

"Just _nice_?"

"Okay, comforting. Musical, soothing, dream-making--"

From his spot on the sofa, Blair held up a hand and, chuckling, said, "Okay, I get it. It sounds nice."

"It sounds nice," Jim agreed.

Blair could hear the smile in Jim's voice and, since a Jim-smile was worth seeing, he got up and wandered into the kitchen, tea cup in hand. The smile was worth the trip. As he rinsed out the cup, Jim said from behind him, "You know, you are one weird man, Sandburg."

Since the smile was still in place, Blair just grinned and, since dinner was obviously ready, he took his seat at the table. Jim put the salad bowl down, along with the bottled dressing. "Dinner in about five, as you apparently figured out."

Blair batted his eyes.

Four minutes later, they were digging into Jim's lasagna, along with the salad and garlic bread. A nice Bordeaux complemented the meal.

They ate in companionable silence until Jim poured the coffee. As he set the pot down, he said, "Game at seven. Do we have popcorn?"

"You can ask about popcorn after a delicious meal like this?"

"The popcorn's for later, Sandburg; when we're both hungry again and yelling at the television and the blind refs."

"I never yell at the set, Jim."

"I know, I misspoke. You mutter."

"Thank you."

"So... do we have popcorn?"

"Only Newman's Own," Blair answered as he picked up his plate and carried it into the kitchen. The dishes were his 'detail' whenever Jim cooked and Blair loved it when Jim cooked. Why? Because being ex-military, he was a 'c-a-y-g' kind of guy; c-a-y-g being Naomi's code for " _Clean as you go_ , something she herself rarely did. Even as Blair put the plate into the sink, he knew full well that in a few seconds, Jim, being Jim, would probably push him aside, hand him a dish towel and say, "You dry". Yeah, it was a rough life living with Jim Ellison.

"Shove it over, Sandburg," Jim said as he handed Blair a dishtowel. "You dry."

Grinning, Blair did as told. Man, he really loved predictability.

***

The popcorn bowl was empty and Jim was eying it woefully. They were on half-time, so Blair got up and took the bowl into the kitchen. He got out another packet of Newman's Own, tossed it into the microwave, got out the butter -- _real_ butter -- and the bottle of powdered cheddar cheese. Fixing Jim's favorite popcorn was the least he could do. Five minutes later, bowl tucked under his arm and a beer in each hand, he returned to the couch.

"Sandburg, I love you," Jim said as he took both the beer and the popcorn.

"Delusions of grandeur, Jim. You obviously think I'm a tall redhead."

Jim felt his forehead, shook his head and countered with, "No, food poisoning."

"You cooked," Blair shot back - right after swallowing a mouthful of beer.

"Ah. Right," Jim conceded. "But love you anyway. Redhead or not, tall or not."

Blair snorted and took a handful of popcorn.

***

Jim turned off the set and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. "We won."

"Yep. Good game."

"Very."

Jim sat back, obviously in no rush to get to bed. Blair was warm and comfortable, his feet resting against Jim's leg. With the set off, the only illumination came from a small bulb over the oven and the flickering glow from their small fireplace. It was still raining, so Blair closed his eyes, rested his head back and gave himself over to the act of listening to it.

"I'm not carrying you to bed, Sandburg," Jim said several minutes later.

"Like you could? Get real. I may be short, but I'm no lightweight."

"You're short _and_ a lightweight, and I could carry you - easily."

"Humph."

They both smiled, Blair with eyes still closed. Additional minutes passed and Blair thought he'd never been happier and even as he thought that - he was almost immediately assaulted by an almost overwhelming guilt. This was great for him, but what about Jim? What about a man who was used to living alone and was now sharing meals, his home, and yes, even private moments like this?

Suddenly, he had a burning need to know something. Without moving or opening his eyes, he said, deceptively soft, "Hey, man, where do you see us, say, five years from now?"

Jim surprised him by asking, "Truthfully?"

Blair handled it with great aplomb. "Well, duh."

"Okay," Jim answered thoughtfully. "I see me sitting right here...but alone...because you'll either be gallivanting around the world via expedition after expedition...or you'll be married _and_ gallivanting around the world via expedition after expedition."

Blair's eyes shot open. "Huh?"

"You heard me, Brainiac."

"You can't be serious?"

"Come on, I'm a cop, you're an anthropologist. Where else would we be five years from now?"

"You're more than a cop, Jim. You're a sentinel. And I'm your back-up; your sidekick, your buddy, your Dr. Watson, your _kemosabe_ , your--"

"You're my teacher and guide, Chief, but you're an anthropologist first. When you get your doctorate, we can assume I'll be a fully functioning sentinel and you can do what anthropologists do."

"You're already fully functioning, Jim." He swung his legs away and over the edge of the couch, then planted his feet firmly on the ground. "I'm around to make sure that if anything comes up, you can handle it. Things come up all the time. They'll continue to come up. And by the way, do you know the origins of 'kemosabe'? No, you don't, but I do. It's from _giimoozaabi_ , an Ojibwe and Potawatomi word that meant "scout" but was actually more correctly translated as "trusty scout" or even more accurate; "faithful friend""

Jim leaned forward and, expression showing some surprise, said, "So what, you're saying that because you're my...kemosabe, my Tonto, you plan on sticking by me forever?"

"Well, until you retire, find someone better, get married, or kick me out, yeah."

Jim flinched at the 'kick me out'. "Trust me, that will never happen again. And no, I won't find anyone better and I have no plans to remarry."

"Of course you will. You need someone to care for you-- _about_ you. And it's a given that you'll find someone better at this whole sentinel thing, someone with appropriate instincts; maybe even a real cop...like a sassy, redheaded detective. So yeah, it's going to happen."

Jim tried to picture any of Blair's options, but they fell by the wayside in the wake of the thought of life without Blair. And married again? Him? To anyone other than the idiot sitting next to him? Not hardly. He leaned in closer to his partner. "Listen, if you're serious about sticking by me until I retire, get married or whatever, then we have some talking to do."

Blair nodded. "I'm serious."

"Okay, then. What about _your_ career?"

"Mine? Hell, man, what better career opportunity for an anthropologist than what I'm doing with you? Someday, when you've retired, Simon is happy bouncing his grandchildren on his knee, and the mayor and commissioner are both long gone, I'll write that dissertation, maybe in fictional form and then we'd spend our retirement years with more money that we can count and maybe living on some island while the Mel Gibson or Clint Eastwood of the twenty-first century plays you in the movie. Fred Savage will probably play me. Then I'll follow up my bestselling Sci-fi Sentinel book with an equally brilliant tome on the police which will result in Henri Brown's promotion to police commissioner."

"My God, you really do have a rich fantasy life."

Looking at Jim's long fingers, Blair said, "You have no idea."

After a few moments, Jim frowned and asked, "So what about your love life? What about marriage for you?"

"To quote a great man, 'not going to happen'."

"And why not? Afraid of the commitment?"

Blair sat up, pulled his legs around and, after crossing them Indian-style, looked over at Jim and asked, "Is that what you really think?"

Jim shrugged. "Seems like a natural assumption. Your mother's track record must have left you a little... gun shy...about marriages and commitments."

"Think so?" He rubbed his forehead. "You know, Jim, there are different kinds of commitment. A mother's to her son, a man to his studies, friends to friends, and so on...if you get my drift?"

Jim licked his bottom lip as he allowed his leg to fall a bit so that it now touched Blair's. "So just how committed are you to me?"

Blue eyes fixed on Jim's mouth, Blair said, "Very. Completely. Totally."

"So if, five years from now, an evening like this ended with us going upstairs together for some hot monkey love and listening to the rain on the skylight, you'd be all right with that?"

Blair's eyebrow arched and he said, "Hot monkey sex, Jim? Have you ever _seen_ monkeys having sex? And yes, I'd be all right with that, but only if it were something we did - and had done - on a regular basis in the five years preceding a night a like this."

Jim got to his feet. "So just say the word, Sandburg, and that can be arranged." There was a hint of challenge in the softly spoken words.

Eyes glittering darkly, Blair got to his feet and whispered, "Word."

They stared at each other, small smiles hovering around their lips. Finally, Jim leaned in, very slowly, until his mouth just touched Blair's. Dark eyes blinked at him, and he smiled into the barely-there kiss. He let his mouth slide to the corner of Blair's, and said, "By the way -- I love you."

"Never doubted it, Jim," Blair said, his hand coming up to palm the back of Jim's head. "At least not for the last two minutes, anyway."

Jim found himself being very soundly kissed by his partner, his ' _kemosabe_ , and was somewhat shocked because he'd been pretty sure he'd have been the one to the moves on Blair. But he'd been wrong before where Sandburg was concerned.

***

The rain thundered against the skylight and Blair thought it might drive him crazy, which was kind of a let-down because he's always assumed it would sound glorious up here. On the other hand, Jim's arm and one leg were draped across him and the bed really _was_ big and comfortable, and Jim's blankets and sheets were, naturally, top notch in the softness department, so maybe a small deluge striking the skylight could be lived with -- for the next forty or so years.

And he was exactly where he expected himself to be, for the next forty or so years. Okay, maybe a nice house someday, and an herb garden, fresh tomatoes and corn, and maybe a study for writing those two books; a little cubbyhole just right for his wolf spirit. And maybe it could be upstairs-downstairs so Jim could have his airy upper loft to feed his jaguar spirit -- yeah, why not?

But he drew the line at a picket fence. Chain link would be just fine, thank you very much.

He rubbed Jim's arm gently and went on dreaming, the rain softer now, creating a nice backdrop - or should it be ' _backdrip_? Oh, who the hell cared. He nestled further down into the covers with Jim anchoring him down. This was life.

The End


End file.
